


Is that a gun in your pocket?

by SHARKMARTINI



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Guns, M/M, Mentions of Sex, SnowBaz, attempted murder (kind of), hinted autoerotic asphyxiation, idk this seemed like a good idea at the time, keeping it t for totally legit and safe for consumption, light mafia au, mentions of guns, no actual explicit violence or gun use despite the material and tags, nonlinear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHARKMARTINI/pseuds/SHARKMARTINI
Summary: Business is never personal for Baz. Unfortunately for him, Simon Snow falls somewhere in between the two.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 27
Kudos: 223





	Is that a gun in your pocket?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theobliviouswriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theobliviouswriter/gifts).



> Written for the COWS Secret Santa 2019.
> 
> I used the fanon-approved Lwelleyn as the Mage’s last name, in case that clears things up.
> 
> Also in all honesty, I don’t know anything about the mafia or organized crime. Instead, I watched the Godfather as research for this and I don’t think it actually helped me at all.

**SIMON**

The second I open the door, I know something is wrong.

Everything looks the same as it did as I tugged my shoes on this morning, right down to the bit of egg that had dropped from my breakfast wrap while I'd ran out the door.

My heart pounds as I set my things down, following the motions of my nightly routine on autopilot. I turn on the kettle, throw my shoes in the direction of the hall closet, and remove my tie.

I leave the telly off, and after stirring my tea I slip the jackknife from my junk drawer and into my pocket. Then I undo and roll up my cuffs.

I turn on all the lights, walking from room to room with my hot mug of tea.

The bedroom is different too.

I close my eyes for a quick second while lingering in the doorway, toeing into a pair of slippers.

It's only then that I finally recognize the smell.

**BAZ**

Indulgence, indulgence, indulgence.

_I might die from it_ , I think to myself not for the first time, as I screw the silencer onto my pistol.

It's only a precaution. After all, the key to a successful hit is convincing others it wasn't a hit at all.

Which is why I've instead found the sturdiest belt in Snow's closet, and spent the past hour twisting it between my hands as I lie underneath his bed.

(There's a sock down here. I wonder if it belongs to him or to someone else.)

(Maybe it's mine.)

No one who knows him well will believe it, especially if they've been in his bed. But I'm not trying to convince _them._ Only the public perception.

It's a pity. I won't enjoy it.

(Not that I ever have. Business is business, but I can't deny that this job is especially demoralizing. If it wasn't so important for the family-and for myself- I would have worked something else out. He really should have fucking just taken the money.)

But Snow brings this all on himself in the end.

Five million over three years.

That was the official offer. Dismiss a few cases here, turn a blind eye there- he would have been paid for doing almost nothing at all.

No one would ever turn that down. His mentor sure didn't.

Trust Snow to always try to do the right thing- even at his own expense.

Which is funny, because I'm the one who's going to end up paying the price.

**SIMON**

I'm still alive as I sit in front of the telly, watching the news. At first I'm surprised, but then I realize it's because he's probably waiting for me to fall asleep.

I imagine it's easier to kill someone that doesn't fight back.

I take my time, watching the headlines and staying for rest of the day's stories while I think about my next move.

I don't want to call the cops. It's impossible to say who would come. We're investigating the entire department, from the bottom all the way to the top, and it would be just my luck to have a couple of crooks show up and just help him with the job instead.

There's only one person I do trust. I pick up my phone and text her quickly, before I lose my nerve.

_Penny, send one of the interns over with a pizza. They'll need to act like it's a delivery. Better include some chicken wings- and a gun._

**BAZ**

I'd known who he was of course.

I'd actually gone to the diner quite specifically to scope him out. My father had been ranting and raving about the progression of his career for years.

He's been a thorn in our side since Lwelleyn took him on. No family, no desire for power or money. Everything he does is for the greater good, because he actually believes that things should be good.

I'd been intrigued, against my better judgement.

"There needs to be something," I'd said to Dev as we discussed the problem over drinks one night, right after I'd been called home. "There's got to be something in his past we can use against him- or someone. You've just not found the right leverage yet. You need to try harder. He's too high profile- the risk of taking him out is too high."

"We've tried everything. His past is spotless- grew up in care, got his way into law school on merit scholarship. He started working as a crown prosecutor because he _wanted_ to. He keeps turning down offers from private firms to stay where he is."

I squint, running a finger along the rim of my glass.

"Friends?"

"One. Another lawyer, Penelope Bunce. Her mother was a law professor. She’s got lots of siblings- nothing unusual. Nothing there- that one can take care of herself. Snow himself has got lots of acquaintances, but nothing useful." I frown, but refuse to give in.

"Lovers?"

"None currently. Well, none that we know of anyway. If there's someone in his life he hides them well."

I sigh, pushing my hand through my hair. "You know I asked you to be the one to pick me up from the airport because I'd assumed you were the one least likely to drag me into some bollocks immediately upon landing."

"Sorry. I'm just giving you the news. You know you’re gonna be asked to do this soon enough. You might as well be prepared for it."

He’s not wrong.

"Is he being tracked?" I asked.

"Kind of. It's been well easy, he's always at the office or at home. He lives alone off main, in that dodgy area near the lake."

"That is dodgy- I know public servants are paid a pittance, but you'd think he could scrape together enough to live literally anywhere else."

Dev shrugs. "We figure the bloke likes it there. He's heavily involved with the community- been living there since he was out on his own for the first time."

Weird.

"Well, maybe I should pay him a visit. See what I'm going to be dealing with."

"Better be careful if you do. He's a paranoid sort. If you tip him off you might not get the chance. He's not as stupid as he looks."

I ignored the warning, of course. And that's how I found myself at the all-night diner down the street from Snow's place late one Thursday night.

_Damn Dev_ , I thought, staring across the dingy room at the lone figure bathed in fluorescent light.

It seemed that he'd neglected to mention that in addition to being a walking example of self-righteousness, Snow was also inflammably handsome.

**SIMON**

The intern looks scared when I open the door.

"Delivery for Simon Snow," he stammers, handing me a greasy box with a bag on top. A peek inside confirms he didn't neglect to read the special instructions Penny must have left for him.

"Thanks," I tell him. "Keep the change."

I close the door behind him and lean against it, sighing. I put the food down on the couch and sit next to it, trying to decide what to do next.

I eat slowly (I’m not about to start letting good food go to waste), until I’m done. I glance towards the bedroom, but everything still looks the way I left it.

I wonder whether I’m patient enough to wait him out.

I decide to try and lure him out instead, turning on the water in the shower and stepping behind the curtain, just out of reach of the spray.

I wait.

And wait.

Eventually, the water runs cold and I’m still there- standing fully clothed in the tub.

**BAZ**

It’s over an hour later that Snow comes back into the room, muttering to himself as he gets ready for bed. I watch his ankles move across the room as I wait.

His feet are bare, tracking little puddles of water a cross the floor as he walks to and fro. The air in here steamy, even under the bed- it's rich and heady, smelling like his cheap soap.

I close my eyes and breathe it in.

When I open them, I startle- those boring blue eyes are only inches from my face.

The gun ruins the view somewhat.

**SIMON**

I'd noticed him the second he walked into the diner. I'm there often, I know all the regulars. His shoes were shiny under the fluorescent lights, the collar of his expensive-looking coat turned up against the wind. He didn't bother looking around as he peeled off his leather gloves, tucking them into his pocket.

His fingers were long and thin. Looking at them made me feel hot under my collar so I looked away.

He'd taken a seat near me at the bar, ordering quietly. I noticed the posh accent right away, the clipped vowels.

_Not from around here, then._

Progress was slow, but smooth enough that I didn't notice except in hindsight.

A comment about the game here, a quick joke there. An opening for conversation that slid right into questions about the area, how long he'd been in town. One drink, then two, then a shared plate of chips between us.

We'd stood outside the diner late that night, him looking up at the sky with a cigarette in his mouth and me at his eyes, because I couldn't imagine looking anywhere else.

When he caught my eye he crooked a brow, throwing his cigarette to the ground and grinding it under the toe of his shoe.

I'd nodded without thinking.

**\--**

The ringing phone woke me up.

"Fuck," I swore, disentangling myself from the covers and reaching for my phone. "Penny? What's-"

"Simon! Do you know what time it is?!" I held the phone away from my ear, wincing as I squinted at the bedside clock, "you need to be in court in an _hour_! You promised to meet me at the office with the paperwork for-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I scrambled out of bed, tugging on a discarded pair of pants. I was pretty sure they were mine. "I'll meet you at the courthouse. Fuck, Penny, I swear I'll make it up to you- can you grab my files- and a tea?"

"You owe me."

The line went dead. I'd stared at the phone in my hand for a moment, before shaking my head and looking up.

He'd looked even better in the watery morning light than he had under the fluorescent bulbs of the diner.

"Rough morning?" he'd asked cheekily.

I tried to laugh, but only managed to sigh. "It's about to be, yeah."

"My condolences."

He moved to get up, but I wasn't ready to throw away last night and the rest of my morning just yet.

"Wait," I'd told him, getting back into bed and pulling his face back towards mine. "Good morning. I had a great time last night."

"Likewise," he'd said before kissing me back, stopping me from saying anything else.

The official court records showed council was five minutes late that morning.

**\--**

The cross-examination didn't go the way we wanted.

Neither did the closing arguments.

I'd sighed and tried not to let my disappointment show on my face.

We weren't going to get him. I was so sure we'd have him nailed for obstruction of justice- but he'd slipped through our fingers again.

Davy was going to be livid when he found out.

It had been his promise, right at the beginning of his own career- to clean up the streets, make them safe. To tear out organized crime in the city by its roots and let the scum rot away.

We'd been called back into court for the verdict.

The bench had been solemn, waiting for the bad news. When the door to the courtroom had opened and I'd looked over my shoulder I'd felt a moment of fleeting surprise. Of happiness.

The bloke from the diner. He hadn't left his number, but I'd wished he had.

He'd walked in, heads turning to look at him. I couldn't blame them- he was bloody gorgeous.

_What could he possibly be doing here?_

I turned to Penny, about to point him out, when-

"Pitch, over here!"

I stopped at once-

_Pitch._

_Pitch._

_Pitch._

-And watched as he walked over, shaking hands and being clapped on the shoulder before sitting down squarely on the side of the defendant.

**BAZ**

"Hands up!" I lift my hands and wiggle my fingers obediently. The belt falls from my grip. "Get out from under there, _slowly._ "

I follow directions, considering my options.

My gun is still in my pocket.

"Snow," I acknowledge him as I straighten out and get to my feet, keeping my hands raised. He's holding the gun too high on the stock. He obviously doesn't know how to use it properly.

There's something shiny on the grip.

"Is that barbeque sauce?" I can't help but ask. He frowns, looking me up and down.

"Are you armed?"

I sigh. _Am I armed?_ How is it my family could not manage to kill this imbecile? He's a joke.

"Yes Snow, I'm armed."

"I meant with something other than my belt."

I roll my eyes. "I have a gun in my pocket."

He leans over, keeping his eyes on me as he reaches into the pocket of my coat and-

I knee him in the stomach, and he grunts in surprise as he doubles over, falling to his knees. I've wrestled the gun from his hand before he manages to react- and yes, it's barbeque sauce.

"Snow, you're pathetic." I tell him, taking out a handkerchief and wiping the gun down as he heaves for breath on the floor.

"Sorry, wasn't expecting to have to engage in hand to hand combat after work."

I unload the gun and put the cartridge in my pocket, tossing the rest aside. "I'm surprised. Word on the street is that you're paranoid enough. I wondered whether you'd anticipate this."

He laughs, then wheezes a little. “I didn’t. But then I recognized your cologne.”

_Ah_.

I make a mental note to prepare better next time. An amateur’s mistake. My father must have been right after all- I have been away from the family business for too long.

"You really need to start working out." I tell him, pulling my gun out and checking the silencer.

"Didn't hear you complaining last time you were here."

I feel the heat of a flush working up my neck at his words. "I meant," I bite out, "that you need a cardio routine. You should not be this winded after whatever that was."

"Ah, well. Hindsight is 20/20." he concedes. "In my next life I'll try to remember to get a membership somewhere."

I pause.

He notices.

"Basilton-"

"Don't call me that!" I snap at him.

"Okay- Baz, then." He holds out his hands, "I don't know what I can say to convince you not to kill me, but I'd really prefer it if you didn't."

"Unfortunately, I don't have much of a choice in the matter," I tell him, "but for what it's worth I'm not going to enjoy it."

"I don't enjoy my work either," he tells me, like it's a secret. "I used to think I was making a difference, that what I did was important, but-"

"Snow! Snow, shut up!"

He frowns, but follows the direction adequately.

It's silent, except for the sound of traffic and wind outside. More silence, then-

A floorboard creaks. Snow turns his head against the floor to stare at the front door. His mouth is open (mouth breather.) I bend my knees and scan the room. The floor board creaks again.

It creaks a third time and I move quickly towards the fusebox I'd seen in the closet, flipping all the switches I can reach.

We're thrown into darkness not even a moment before the front door bangs open.

**SIMON**

The first thing I notice is the discomfort.

Then I realize that I'm alive, which is both confusing and unexpected.

It hurts to lift my head, but I do it anyway, looking around.

I don't know where I am. The walls are covered with expensive looking wallpaper. There's a thick carpet underneath the chair I'm sitting on. The floors are shiny dark wood.

Everything looks expensive. The art on the walls, the heavy wooden desk in front of me, the chandelier.

I try to move and find that I can't. I look down and- _oh_.

I'm tied to the fucking chair.

I spend what feels like a long time wriggling back and forth, testing the strength of the knots. Finally, I get an arm loose and immediately shove it into my pocket before- finally!- pulling out my jackknife.

As soon as I've cut myself free, I pull back the curtain and look out the window.

It takes me a moment to recognize the view- I'm in the city. Just a different neighbourhood by the looks of it.

The bougie side of town.

I press my ear to the solid wood of the door and close my eyes. Silence.

I turn the handle and leave the room.

\--

Hours later, the front door opens, and I pause the telly.

A soft curse, the sound of shoes hitting the floor, and a sigh.

I'm not even the littlest bit surprised when Baz rounds the corner, gym bag on his shoulder and a brown bag of something fragrant and greasy in hand.

He stops as we stare at each other, him weary with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and me nestled deep in the leather cushions of his sofa- opened bag of crisps on my chest.

"Hungry then?" he asks, turning away from me and putting the brown bag on the (massive, expensive) dining room table. We eat in silence on the sofa, watching the news.

(I don’t know what to say to him. I have questions- a _lot_ of them, but I don’t really want to bring to his attention that he was supposed to kill me last night- and that instead we’re eating greasy Chinese takeaway in what might be his luxury apartment.)

(Occasionally we both reach for an eggroll at the same time, our hands brushing. He flinches and scowls, and I pretend like it never happened. Like my skin isn’t buzzing at the unexpected contact.)

The evening news comes on. I've been declared missing. So have three cops from my local precinct- MIA while responding to a domestic dispute at my address. On the public news network Davy is holding a press conference, condemning organized crime and blaming them for my disappearance.

"I should probably give him a call," I finally say, looking over at Baz. He's been silent since he sat down. "Let him know he doesn't need to worry."

"I wouldn't," Baz says, before reaching into the gym bag at his feet and grabbing a flip phone. “I picked this off one of the pigs.” He presses a couple of buttons then throws it to me.

It's a voicemail message.

"Is it done?"

I hit replay and listen to it again.

"Is it done?"

My breathing comes quick, heart pounding out of my chest as I meet Baz's grey eyes.

“I don’t- why would?” None of this makes any sense.

I don’t want- I can’t- trust Baz. He broke into my flat to kill me. Just because I’m still alive doesn’t mean I can trust him- I still woke up tied to a chair.

(A nice chair. A soft one. I’d still had all the feeling in my limbs, but my fingers had felt kind of tingly. None of this means _anything._ )

**BAZ**

“I don’t understand,” he says quietly.

“Your Jedi master has been on my father’s payroll for the past twenty years,” I tell him. “You’ve been put in charge of investigating the department from the ground up- what would you have done when you realized the chain of command was rotten all the way to the very top?”

He doesn’t say anything, staring at his knees.

“I thought-” I wait. “Why did you come home with me?” he asks, frowning. “You obviously knew who I was. After I learned who you were, I thought that you were going to use it as leverage- but you’ve never tried to use it against me. I expected to be hauled in front of the ethics commissioner and dragged through the court of public opinion. I just don’t understand.”

I feel my jaw clench.

He’s such a fucking moron. I’ve just told him that his mentor double crossed him- tried to have him murdered in his bed and he just ignores it.

Instead he wants us to talk about our _feelings_.

(In fairness, he didn’t specifically bring up feelings, but that’s the answer. Why I agreed to go home with him, why he’s still alive- because of _feelings_. Because the moment I walked into that diner and saw him- it was like he was the only real thing in that dingy, washed out place. Blue eyes, bronze curls, he stood out in the best way possible. Technicolour against a black and white background- a burst of colour in an otherwise grim place. In an otherwise grim life.)

Of course I hadn’t told anyone.

No, the problem with Simon Snow, I’ve learned, is that he’s something I want to keep all to myself.

“That was personal. The rest of it is business.” I tell him, because I can’t (I won’t) admit to the rest.

He looks at me, before nodding like he gets it.

I startle as he reaches out, pulling me towards him. He kisses me slowly, deeply, and now I’m the one who doesn’t understand.

Normally I’d worry over it, but instead I close my eyes and let myself feel nothing but the slide of his mouth, the swell of my own happiness.

I wish more than anything that he was something I could let myself have.

\--

“What happens now?” he asks hours later, as I run my hand lazily through his curls.

“They’ll probably start dragging the river bottom tomorrow,” I tell him, tracing the shell of his ear, “and your boss is probably going to try and escape from under my father’s control by blaming my family for your disappearance and alleged murder. I wouldn’t be surprised if a warrant for my arrest came out within the week.”

“Why would they think it was you?”

“One of your boss’ men got away. You probably didn’t notice since you were knocked out practically as soon as they broke down the door, which is pathetic by the way. But he’ll sing whatever song Lwelleyn asks him to. It’ll put a neat bow on the whole thing- cutting off all the loose ends at once.”

He turns around in my arms, and my pulse kicks up as I lean in for a kiss- but he pulls away. “Why were you there last night?”

“An independent project,” I admit, tugging on his earlobe, “you’ve been quite a problem recently. I prefer to keep my personal and professional lives separate- I was hoping that removing you from the equation would give me a modicum of respite in both areas.”

He snorts. It’s disgusting- but I’m enchanted all the same.

“So, what will you do now?” he asks.

“Probably fly out tomorrow morning, before the warrant is processed. Although, considering you’re not actually dead I might be able return soon, depending on how Lwelleyn’s story shapes up.”

“Oh, so I can expect to stay alive then?”

“For now,” I concede.

“And what about me?”

“Well, I’m not qualified to give professional advice, but I’d advise you to at least consider quitting your job.”

We both start laughing at the same time.

“Good riddance,” he mutters, and I can’t help myself from tipping his chin up and kissing him soundly. “How soon is soon?” he asks, eyes closed, eyelashes brushing against the tip of my nose.

I think. It’s hard to say. “A year, maybe two on the outside.”

“Alright, take me with you then,” he breathes.

“Simon-”

“A year, maybe two. That might be enough time for you to solve your problem, don’t you think?”

I smile, but only because he’s still got his eyes closed.

“I sincerely doubt that taking you with me will solve anything. In fact, you may just make everything that much worse.” I brush the curls off his forehead and press my lips to the mole above his eyebrow. “That being said, I hear Sicily is wonderful this time of year.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was kind of fun. I might return to this AU someday.  
> As always, thanks for checking it out.  
> I can also be found on [tumblr](https://sharkmartini.tumblr.com/)


End file.
